Have a ring he said It will be fun he said
by Croftgal
Summary: Humorous oneshot. The Witch-King of Angmar isn't having a good day. Written as a result of too much sugar.


The Witch-King of Angmar decided that today would be a duvet day. Sauron's army could just build itself for one day. Ever since Angmar had asked Sauron to make him a lady-wraith, Sauron had ignored all contact fom Minas Morgul. All that week orcs sniggered as Angmar passed and wolf-whistles pitched high enough for only Nazgûl ears to hear assailed him. When Angmar's temper finally snapped last night, so did over a hundred orc spines.

Angmar was reliving the glorious sound of crunching vertebra when a loud knock on his door made him jump. "I don't want any breakfast today Lazrat!" Angmar shouted. "Go away, I'm meditating on a new spell." The door swung open anyway and Angmar sat up in his bed, realizing his mistake.

A white figure, a crown on his grey hair, sauntered in. "You killed Lazrat last night boss."

Orcshit. His valet was the only one in Mordor who could wash and condition Angmar's robes to comfortable softness.

"What do you want Khamûl?" said Angmar, trying to look dignified.

"All the orcs are hiding after your little tantrum last night. The army is our priority, and your orders are to build it to full strength. Get up and do your job."

"Since when do you care about the army? You're just upset that you have fetch your own glass of blood." Angmar sneered at Khamûl's guilty twitch.

"Be that as it may boss, there's no work being done, and sulking in here isn't helping your reputation."

Now it was Angmar who twitched. "I do not sulk Khamûl. I am meditating on a spell that will aid us in the conquering of Osgiliath." Khamûl didn't look convinced, so Angmar added, "Besides, Dread Lords brood, they do not sulk."

"Looks like sulking to me," Khamûl said fankly, "and Lord Sauron isn't setting much of an example. He won't answer any of us."

Khamûl strode to the window and bounced on his toes. His heavy metal boots made an irritating clanking sound. Angmar knew he was working up to the real point of the visit. The Witch-King flopped back onto his Shelob spun sheets with a sigh. "Spit it out Khamûl." he said.

"We wraiths think you hurt Lord Sauron's feelings."

Angmar put his head in his hands. He would have laughed at the idea of Sauron having feelings just a week ago, but the injured silence from Bara-dûr had led him to suspect the same thing. The justifications Angmar had been using to soothe his own guilt now came pouring out to Khamûl.

"All I asked for was a little companionship! I told him straight to his Eye – you will aways be the centre of my life. But does he listen? He - "

Angmar was cut off by the sounds of a scuffle outside. Muffled cries and solid blows sounded outside the door. After a short while a small orc was propelled into the room. He fell to his knees from the force of the push. "Uh... uh... most exaulted Witch-King, Sir," he stammered, blood dripping down his face. "The Lord Sauron has made contact. He requires your presence."

Angmar threw a triumphant look at Khamûl. He swept out of the room, absently crushing the life from the messenger orc as he left. Everyone thought Angmar knew nothing about housekeeping, but bloodstains were impossible to remove from carpeting. Such carelessness had to be punished.

Angmar knelt before the blazing Eye in the palantir and extended a hand that was transparent to his own eyes. He should probably apologize. Damn Khamûl. He had followed Angmar, no doubt hoping to witness an apology and/or a punishment.

"My Lord-"

"WITCH-KING." Sauron cut him off. "THE ONE RING HAS BEEN FOUND. IT IS IN THE POSSESSION OF A BILBO BAGGINS OF THE SHIRE, WEST OF THE ISEN. IT CALLS TO US, AND I SHALL ANSWER. I TRUST YOUR PURPOSE IS CLEAR."

Angmar was floored. The One Ring? After three millennia?

There were several appropriate replies to such momentous news. One was to praise his Master's shrewdness and cleverness. Another was to promise his utmost efforts to retrieve the ring. Instead Angmar found himself blurting, "The One Ring? Master, there will be no limits to your power. Do you think I could have a puppy-wraith too?"

* * *

_It was said of the day that the Nine left Minas Morgul that the animals fell silent from Mordor to Minas Tirith. It was said men killed themselves at the passing of the Nine, and that the Sun itself grew dark._

_Such rumours were true._

_The screeches of Nazgûl were pitched too high to be heard on the mortal plane, but their effects could not be entirely erased from the world. Men and animals were driven to madness. But it was not just their lot to be driven mad. The Witch-King of Angmar was subjected to a full day of laughter from the other Nazgûl._


End file.
